


Tears of an Angel

by Warriorette12



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Heartwarming, Humor, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10004375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warriorette12/pseuds/Warriorette12
Summary: Cover my eyes. Cover my ears. Tell me these words are a lie.Or...how Phichit helps Yuuri get back on his feet after the Sochi GPF.Or...how Phichit is the best friend any man could ask for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hahaha, guess what song I was listening to when I wrote this...
> 
> So I wanted to write a story about my favorite friendship in the series. Then I realized that there's about three months between the Sochi Grand Prix Finals and when Yuuri goes back to Japan. Three months in which, by Yuuri's own admission, he was depressed and tried to get back his love for skating.
> 
> I took that and ran with it.

 

_You were miserable out there._

_A failure!_

_How did you even qualify?_

_You’re a disgrace!_

_“A commemorative photo.”_

Yuuri couldn’t help but gasp painfully and curl further in on himself as the mental image of his idol is conjured up with that last thought. He was already in the fetal position under his covers, his arms wrapped around his knees so tightly that they were beginning to feel numb. He couldn’t breathe. He felt dizzy, thinking about Vicchan, who he would never see again except in photos. He felt like drowning, overwhelmed by his failure at the Grand Prix Finals. He felt lost, remembering the fake smile Victor Nikiforov himself had flashed his way afterwards, not even recognizing him as a fellow competitor. That’s how far he’d fallen.

He let these thoughts permeate in his head as he lay there, separated from the rest of the world by the thick layer of blue cotton around him. He bit his lower lip to hold back any audible sobs that tried to force their way out and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t disturb his roommate. It was almost a torture in itself; forcing himself to hold back all the mental anguish that desperately needed release.

_It hurts. It hurts._

“Yuuri?"

Yuuri froze. _Oh no._

Without Yuuri being aware of it, Phichit had pulled the covers off his head and was standing above him with the oddest expression on his face; a mix of horror and worry that seemed out of place on the face of the boy who was usually all smiles.

Yuuri felt like he had been punched in the gut, looking up at that expression.

He hadn’t even heard Phichit wake up, let alone heard him cross the room. But _this_ was exactly why Yuuri always tried to hide. Why he always dealt with his inner demons alone. Because it was almost 3 in the morning and they had classes at 8, yet there Phichit stood, losing precious sleep over his friend who was huddled in a ball on his bed, slowly self-destructing.

Yuuri could only imagine what he looked like to his friend; curled up like this with messy hair and eyes red from the torrent of tears that now streaked his pillow. They were still flowing down, down, down his face. They kept coming, even as he took a deep breath (or as deep as he could without choking) and tried to will them away. He _never_ cried in front of anyone. Not even Phichit. Sure, he knew Phichit had witnessed his freak-outs once or twice before any major competitions they took part in, but the Thai boy had never questioned him about it. He’d probably thought they were just a product of ordinary nerves. The severity of his anxiety was one of the few things Yuuri had successfully kept his roommate and friend in the dark about.

But now?

Yuuri was a mess, days after the Grand Prix Finals, and Phichit had caught him red-handed.

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri managed to blurt eventually. He quickly stretched out again and released the death-grip he had on his legs, wincing at the pins and needles that shot through them at the sudden movement.

“Yuuri, what’s the matter?!” Yuuri felt the dip in his mattress as Phichit sat at the edge of his bed.

 _Nothing,_ Yuuri wanted to say. _Nothing’s wrong. Go back to bed and wipe that look off your face. Have sweet dreams and wake up in a few hours, grumbling at your alarm like you always do. Don’t mind me._

‘Nothing’, Yuuri wanted to say.

“Everything.” he choked out.

When he didn’t elaborate, Phichit frowned slightly, “Everything?”

Yuuri stared back at his friend, helpless. He wanted to apologize over and over. He wanted to run away. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up, able to pretend that this night never happened. More than anything, he wanted to explain himself. But he didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know _how_ to start.

Phichit must have seen something in his face because he stopped frowning and nodded, as if he had somehow read Yuuri’s mind. As if he’d seen the dilemma that was tearing him apart inside and keeping his mouth closed.

“I’m here if you want to talk.” he said simply, moving to go back to his own bed.

But Yuuri suddenly didn’t want him to go, “I- I want to!”

Phichit froze and waited.

It took Yuuri ten minutes to calm himself down. It took another five before he could bring himself to open his mouth and string together a coherent sentence. But he could see that Phichit didn’t care. He’d wait for Yuuri until the sun rose if it took that long. He didn’t get impatient, or try and prompt Yuuri to say something as the silence stretched on and on. He just waited, and Yuuri suddenly felt very grateful that he hadn’t run from the excited Thai boy who’d come up to him at the rink and started chatting three years ago.

The second he finally opened his mouth, it’s like a dam breaking.

He told Phichit about how Vicchan had been by his side for many years, but when he needed Yuuri, he’d failed to be there for him. He told Phichit about how he’d failed to step up for his country at his very first Grand Prix Final. He told Phichit about how he had gotten to be on the same ice as Victor…but Victor barely knew who he was. He talked about how he’d been shouted at by a _15-year-old kid_ who had managed to rub all the salt into Yuuri’s fresh wound so effectively. He told Phichit how much he missed his family, but also how afraid he was to look any of them in the eye after letting them down.

And Phichit listened.

Yuuri vomited up all his insecurities for the first time in his life and Phichit just _listened_. Yuuri saw that Phichit seemed to have a lot on his mind —his brows became increasingly furrowed and his eyes narrowed in the way that Yuuri usually only saw when he was trying to solve a particularly challenging math problem — but he didn’t interject with any comments. It almost made Yuuri want to start crying again because _he didn’t deserve to know someone like Phichit Chulanont._

It was only when Yuuri has talked himself hoarse that Phichit finally spoke up. His voice was quiet and he spoke slowly, as if he was choosing his words with painstaking care.

“I don’t know how long you’ve been thinking these things and…and I’ve never had much experience with helping someone _not_ have thoughts like that. But I can, and _will_ say that I don’t think you’re worthless. At. All. You are an amazing skater and I’ve always looked up to you and admired you for your hard work. And you do work hard, don’t look at me like that, and it’s gotten you far. I mean, regardless of how you placed, you still made it to the Grand Prix Finals!”

“But I shouldn’t have, with my performance record…”

“No, Yuuri, you made it because you were perfectly qualified.”

Silence. Yuuri didn’t know what to say and Phichit didn’t seem to know what to add. But then Phichit stood and moved closer.

“I- I know you’re not much of a touchy person but…can I just hug you?”

Yuuri tried to smile and say yes, but settled for nodding instead. He didn’t know why, but he felt _drained_. Phichit saw the movement, though, and wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri didn’t say anything. He just looked over Phichit’s shoulder at the hamster cage on the bookshelf between their beds.

(‘What would his life be like if he was a hamster?’, he randomly thinks, and he almost laughs at the absurdity of his train of thought.)

“You are my best friend and a great skater and I will do _everything_ in my power to keep you from leaving the ice. I’m going to make sure you skate and skate for years and years, long past when you’re probably supposed to retire. You’ll be like Victor!”

Yuuri let out a small laugh, “He’s not _that_ old. And besides, I’ll never be like Victor.”

Phichit pulled away from Yuuri and stared him down with a scary intensity, “That’s right, you’ll never be like Victor. You’ll be _better_ than Victor. One day.” Phichit looked up at one of the posters of the man in question, “And if I meet him in person, I’ll kick his ass for you for being so rude.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile, “Don’t do that! I mean, you can’t really blame him, can you?”

“Yes I can, and yes I will,” Phichit said, “And I’ll find that Plisetsky kid and kick his ass too for suggesting that you retire. Ridiculous…”

Yuuri managed to fall asleep to Phichit’s mutterings, feeling much calmer than he’d felt an hour ago. But he woke up the next morning with a sort of fuzz in his brain, too tired to get out of bed, but too awake to ignore the belittling thoughts racing around his brain and go back to sleep. He just wanted to lie there and think about how he’s still got the Japanese Nationals to prepare for, but there was little point because he’ll probably fail at that too…

Phichit, though, wouldn’t let him off that easy.

So Yuuri skated. His feet felt like weights under him and he couldn’t wave away the cloud of grief that hung over his head, but he skated. He skated every day under the watchful gaze of Celestino and didn’t stop even when he flubbed every jump. He skated, even when the program music around him gave way to the static in his head. He skated because he needed _something,_ other than the food he’d begun to consume as a coping mechanism, to fill the emptiness he felt in his heart. He needed _something_ to prove that he was alive, and that he’ll keep living through this, even though he can’t bring himself to utter it out loud. Even though he had to force himself to repeat it in his head, like a mantra.

_Everything will be okay._

_Everything will be okay._

~ * ~

He failed at Nationals.

He didn’t qualify for the Four Continents Championships.

He didn’t qualify for the World Championships.

Maybe it was a sign.

But Yuuri inevitably found himself at the rink, alone for once, tracing lazy figure eights with his skates. He can never seem to escape the ice or the familiar taste of the dry air that leave his lips a little chapped. Nor can he go anywhere but towards the sound of his blades scraping across the ice’s surface. As he stared down at his reflection in the ice, he imagined that he was looking up at himself from underneath —slowly drowning with the same emptiness in his eyes that he held now.

There was nothing else he _could_ do. He could barely look Phichit in the eye when he and Celestino had returned from Japan with the bad news. He’d disappointed his friend, he knew it. He’d already proven that, no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn’t be good enough. Now Phichit would understand why Yuuri had to retire. Why he had to leave international skating before he became more of a disgrace than he was already.

Maybe that was what Yuuri wanted Phichit to think of him. Maybe that was what he _hoped_ Phichit would think of him.

But Phichit didn’t think that. And he just. Kept. _Trying_. He’d actually gone too far, with that massive head of his that was full of ideas and schemes. He’d tried to give Yuuri a pep talk as soon as they got back to their room, but it was too much to handle. Phichit was pushing, so Yuuri subconsciously pushed back.

It was just like that situation with that girl, Lucy, who’d tried to hug him at the hospital last year. He’d pushed her away and run, and he was doing the same with Phichit, except with words. He had shouted, said things he didn’t exactly mean. He pushed and ran and ran and ran.

That was three days ago.

He knew that Phichit had realized his mistake. Phichit was excitable, bubbly, and liked things to go his way, but he wasn’t naïve. Nor was he stupid. He realized he’d messed up and so he let Yuuri run away from him. He still kept their usual routine — shared breakfasts, shared classes, shared workouts, shared dinners — but he wouldn’t push anymore. If a rift was forming between them in the meantime, filled with everything neither of them had the courage to say, then so be it. He would give Yuuri his space.

Yuuri did what he always did when he ran away. He skated. He had nothing left except the ice beneath his feet and, as he turned, he remembered how he used to run to Ice Castle Hasetsu when he was younger. When he still had hopes and dreams of being a top skater, but was still a victim of the same self-doubt that crippled him now.

It wasn’t until he’d carved the same figure eight into the ice for the dozenth time that he noticed the person watching him from the bleachers. Phichit stared at him with his head cradled in his hands, even as he stopped skating and stared back. After a few seconds, Phichit stood up and clambered down, heading for the gate at the edge of the ice. Yuuri skated over to him.

“I’m sorry!” Phichit blurted before Yuuri had the chance to open his mouth.

Yuuri could see it in his friend’s eyes. He was sorry for everything he said that could have possibly made things worse for Yuuri. He was sorry for pushing.

Yuuri shook his head, “No, I’m sorry.”

A silence fell between them, but it’s not awkward. They’d had enough of awkward silences.

Phichit bit his lip, “What were you thinking while you were out there?”

Yuuri looked back the way he came, “Nothing.”

At this point, though, Yuuri knew that Phichit knew what he meant. ‘Nothing’ meant ‘everything’.

“You really should stop punishing yourself, Yuuri.” Phichit said softly.

“I can’t help it.”

Phichit thought for a second. Yuuri practically saw the gears turning in his friend’s head and he’s suddenly wary.

But Phichit surprised him, “Skate one of my programs. Like ‘Shall We Skate?’.”

Yuuri blinked, “One of…one of _yours_?”

Phichit nodded, “Or at least as much of mine as you can remember from watching me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Phichit admitted with a shrug, “But if it’s too painful to do one of your own, I thought you might be able to clear your head by doing something…fresh.”

Yuuri looked back towards the middle of the ice. Could he do that? It felt wrong, performing choreography that was not his own, especially since it was choreography that meant so much to Phichit. He’d seen his friend in the past few weeks, eagerly speeding across the ice as ‘Shall We Skate?’ blasted from the speakers. It was his favorite song and he’d been begging Celestino to let him use it for the past two years. He thought Phichit might have exploded with sheer joy when their coach had finally said yes.

“I can’t do that to you! ‘Shall We Skate?’ is _your_ program.”

“What if I skated it with you? We can do it together.”

Yuuri hesitated at that. He was suddenly reminded of his childhood, when he and Yuuko would do exactly that. They would skate in unison, letting the music flow between them as they laughed their way through their inexperienced attempts at Victor’s choreography. It was something he missed as they had gotten older and Yuuko hadn’t being able to land the quads that Victor could. That Yuuri could. Yuuri had tried downgrading them to triples for her when they practiced but, after a while, she began insisting that it had become much more fun to watch him from the sidelines. But he missed sharing the ice with her. He missed _her_.

“Are you ready?”

Yuuri blinked and found Phichit in front of him with his skates on. _When did he…?_ He skated backwards, and Phichit followed him, until they were both standing in the center of the rink, staring at each other.

“Just follow my lead,” Phichit said, and he was off.

Yuuri’s feet still felt like lead, and his head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but he followed Phichit anyway. Just for now, he was tired of running away. Just for now, he would gladly follow.

So the two of them skated together. It definitely wasn’t graceful; they started off slowly and had to get used to each other’s speeds so they wouldn’t crash into each other or do something like take each other’s heads off during the spin combination in the second half. Phichit, for all of his leading, was still getting used to the movements himself, so Yuuri also had to stop a few times to let him work out the steps before they continued. Yuuri was still a little out of shape from the weight he’d quickly gained in the last month so his legs also began burning before they reached the halfway point. But none of that mattered, in the end, when his stamina won out.

With every misstep and every failed jump, the wall Yuuri had put up between him and his friend crumbled and, about halfway through the program, Yuuri realized that he was smiling for the first time in weeks. The choreography, which perfectly mimicked the excited pace of the musical number it was born from, had begun to rub off on him and he felt himself get into the movement of his body. If he glanced to the side, he could see Phichit a few arm-lengths away, moving the same way he was. It felt good to know that he had the Thai skater by his side.

As the two boys struck the final pose side by side, their arms outstretched, they looked at each other.

A minute ticked by as they just stared, with brown eyes meeting brown, holding that pose. Then they laughed.

“You see!” Phichit said as he put his hands on his knees to catch his breath, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Mmm,” Yuuri muttered in response. He couldn’t believe it himself, “Thanks for that. I feel a bit better now.”

The two young men had gotten off the ice and were removing their skates together before Phichit spoke again.

“You know what?” Phichit said, pointing at Yuuri, “I’ve been practicing that for two months and still haven’t managed to get the step sequences perfect or consistently land all my jumps. But I was watching you; you landed every single one.”

“Wh-what?!”

“You’re on a different level than me, Yuuri. So if you think I’m a great skater, then you’re, like, five times better than me.”

Yuuri looked down at his sore feet.

“But I’m too inconsistent. I may be five time better than you when I’m at by best, but I’m five times worse when I’m not.”

“Don’t say that! You’re not at your best now, but you probably would have gotten a higher technical score than me if we were being scored right now.”

“But this was your program. Don’t you feel insulted that I…that I took it from you like that.”

Phichit put a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, “Nope! I’m _honored_ that you let me _share_ it with you. I actually learned a few things from watching you just now. I just have to keep practicing and, if I can skate like you, then I’m guaranteed to go as far as you did last year.”

The Grand Prix Finals. It was still a wound in Yuuri’s heart, but it wasn’t as freshly painful as he thought it would be.

“But I still can’t even land a quad Salchow consistently. If I’m so great, then shouldn’t I easily be able to get such a simple quad?”

“Who says it’s supposed to be simple? You know what Celestino always says, right? ‘Anything that doesn’t come naturally comes with practice’.”

Yuuri took a deep, shaky breath and let a small smile cross his lips, “With practice.”

_Everything will be okay._

~ * ~

A month went by and Phichit got sick.

It wasn’t completely out of left field. It was inevitable that at least a few people get sick for a little while during the winter months and, with everyone on campus interacting with each other, whatever virus anyone happened to pick up spread like the plague. Yuuri remembered his first winter in Detroit, when he’d been caught off guard and had to spend a whole week in bed with the flu. After that, he’d forced himself to get back on the ice, weak body and sore throat be damned, but Celestino had turned him away.

 _“You’ll only make yourself worse,”_ he’d insisted, _“No, Yuuri! I’m not letting you put on a single skate until you’re fit enough._ ”

Yuuri had made sure to be extra careful in regards to his health since then. After the new year, he made sure to take all the vitamins and supplements he could safely consume in a day, every day. He had also begun wearing a surgical mask everywhere during those hazardous months, ignoring the few odd looks he got as he walked down the street. In the five years since then, he hadn’t gotten ill once.

But taking care of Phichit, once the Thai skater had become his roommate, was almost an annual thing. It, too, was inevitable, given how active and sociable Phichit was on campus. He was usually one of the first to get hit, and he was always hit the hardest, missing two or three weeks before he was fully recovered. Celestino always reprimanded him for not following Yuuri’s lead when he returned, but Phichit always placated him with skating that held the same enthusiasm as it always did.

This year was no different, and Yuuri was more than prepared to look after his friend. He didn’t have any major competitions to train hard for because, unlike in past years, he hadn’t made the Four Continents or Worlds. And if he was also procrastinating on getting back into shape, what was wrong with that? But Phichit insisted that he keep skating.

Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to do so without his friend though, missing three days of practice before Phichit found out. It was a cold Saturday morning when Phichit finally brought it up.

“You need to keep going out there Yuuri,” Phichit said between coughs, “You can’t just stop like this!”

“But I’m not stopping,” Yuuri said, “I’m helping you get better.”

Phichit wasn’t buying it, “I’d feel a lot better if I knew you were pulling off beautiful triple Axels in my memory.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, “You’re not dying.”

“I know, but still…”

Yuuri didn’t respond. Phichit ended up breaking the silence that followed, his voice much quieter than before.

“What are you running from then, by wanting to retire. If you’re still thinking about retiring.”

Yuuri hunched over, closing in on himself without even realizing it. Phichit had gotten better at reading Yuuri’s mood during the last few years, and especially in the last few weeks, and Yuuri didn’t know exactly how to feel about being more vulnerable like that.

“Disappointing everyone.” That was all he managed to say. Phichit tilted his head and blinked a few times, as if he was seeing Yuuri in a different way for the first time. Yuuri squirmed under his gaze.

Yuuri then watched Phichit pull out his phone. The boy tapped at his screen a few times before handing it over to Yuuri. He’d pulled up a Youtube video. A Youtube video of Yuuri skating. At the Grand Prix Finals.

Yuuri thrust the phone towards Phichit, shaking his head, “I don’t want to –.”

Phichit pushed the phone back, “No, wait! Just…just watch for a minute.”

So Yuuri looked down and watched himself glide across the ice. It was his short program. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t actually do too badly in the short program. He’d only received the call about Vicchan before his free skate, so his self-destruction had only occurred then, and he’d actually come third before the storm came that knocked him down to sixth. He could watch himself take every jump without his stomach twisting in anticipation of a fall. He could listen to the commentators marvel over his step sequences and actually agree with them. He could do that.

Because he was watching a Yuuri who had stepped up and didn’t fall short of anyone’s expectations. A Yuuri who, in his opinion, appeared about as regularly as a blue moon. Didn’t Phichit see that that was the problem? He was too damn inconsistent because he lacked confidence, and he was tired of it. Every time he went out there and missed a jump, the sting of the ice on his arms and knees was _nothing_ compared to the sting in his heart that told him he’d never get fundamentally better.

“How can you tell me that you don’t want to become the skater you were just there?”

The impact of what Phichit had said was dulled a bit because it came out riding on a scratchy voice and was followed by a series of coughs, but Yuuri still understood the sentiment behind it.

“Because I can’t _always_ be like that. People expect me to be _that_ and I give them…something else.”

Phiciht nodded slowly, “But that’s because you’re not skating for _yourself_. Forget what the audience wants — what do _you_ want?”

“But…but,” Why couldn’t Phichit see that it wasn’t as simple as that? “If I retire now…”

Phichit actually sat up at that, “You’re not retiring, Yuuri. Don’t you dare! You think you’re safely running from failure, but you’re not. Besides, you haven’t given up yet, not really!”

Yuuri balled his fists, trying not to let his frustration show, “Oh, and how do you know?”

Phichit pointed over Yuuri’s shoulder.

Yuuri frowned as his gaze followed Phichit’s finger to look at his own bed. Huh? He turned back, confused.

“The posters. If you’d truly given up, if you had really decided to stop trying to ‘skate on the same ice as Victor’ as you always put it, you wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself to keep looking at his face every day. You would have taken them down.”

Yuuri gaped. Phichit was right, of course, but Yuuri had only realized it in that moment. He still went down to the rink with Phichit every day to practice his quads and spins and steps. He still looked up at Victor’s face, blown up on the poster paper above his bed, hoping to meet his idol equal ground. He had long since forgiven Victor for his comment at the Grand Prix Finals, but wouldn’t admit to himself that the man had gone back to inspiring him in the same way as he had before.

Phichit watched him with a smirk. He knew exactly what Yuuri was thinking. Knew that he was slowly caving in.

Yuuri gazed into space for a few more moments, with all of his previous anger seeping out of him, before looking down at Phichit, “Since when did you get so wise?”

“Years of experience.”

“But…I’m older than you!”

Phichit just shrugged, “What can I say, I have my moments.”

So Yuuri changed into a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants before picking up his bag and heading out.

“I’ll be back soon.” he called over his shoulder.

“Not too soon, though,” was the reply he received as he closed the door.

~ * ~

He was halfway down the street when he got the text.

 **Phichit:** Srry, man.

Why was Phichit apologizing? Yuuri knew that sometimes he needed some sense knocked into him and he certainly needed Phichit to be the one to do the knocking. He would have run away much sooner if it hadn’t been for his friend’s hounding.

 **Yuuri:** That’s okay. I’m thinking of going to the gym first before heading down to rink. I’ve been ignoring my workouts.

 **Phichit:** So u’re actually gonna practice w/o me?! I got through that thick head of urs?!

 **Yuuri** : Only because I know you’ll drag yourself out of bed if you thought I was anywhere else!

As he sent the message, he sighed. It had been meant as a joke, but saying it out loud (or typing it out) made Yuuri realize that it was somewhat true. In spite of what Phichit had said, he _had_ slowly gotten back into skating for himself — more now in the last week than he had since the Japanese Nationals — but it still felt like a bit of effort to run through the same old routines that hadn’t gotten him far. He still felt like he was running through the motions, without any _e_ motion. He still hadn’t really gotten back his love for skating.

Yurri watched his message get read, but Phichit didn’t respond. That was odd. Phichit’s phone may as well be surgically attached to his hand, and he _always_ had something to say. In the past, Yuuri had to shut him up because he wouldn’t _stop_ having things to say. But he was silent now. Yuuri briefly wondered if he’d misinterpreted the joke and was offended. He would have to apologize, then, as soon as he reached the gym. However, he’d only jogged about 20 steps before his phone buzzed again. Yuuri pulled out his phone to see Phichit’s response and he stopped running out of sheer confusion.

Phichit hadn’t responded back by continuing the banter, like he usually would. He’d sent an emoji. A gold medal. What does that have to do with anything?

 **Yuuri:**?

 **Phichit:** I know I can’t be there to see u skate, but I’ll support u like this.

 **Yuuri:**???

 **Phichit:** It’s like a secret cheer. Y’know, like a message only we’d understand. I thought it’d be fun!

Yuuri shook his head. He could count on Phichit to think something like that was fun. And it was a gold medal because…well, of _course_ it was.

 **Yuuri:** What does that mean?

 **Phichit:** It means that I’ll be there in spirit and I believe in u. It means u’ll go for gold and everything will be okay.

 **Yuuri:** You have to be more subtle than that if that’s what it means. I mean, anyone who knows us can guess what the gold medal means.

But the soft smile didn’t leave his face as he put his phone back his pocket and he started running again.

_Everything will be okay._

~ * ~

“So you’re leaving.”

It wasn’t a question.

Yuuri knew it was coming, but it still felt like a sucker punch when he nodded at the saddened look on Phichit’s face.

“I already talked to Celestino,” Yuuri said, unable to look at his friend’s face for any longer, “He won’t be coaching me anymore. I already have enough credits to graduate early so…so I’m going home at the end of March.”

“Next month.” Phichit mumbled. Once again, it wasn’t a question, and Yuuri felt worse.

Yuuri missed home. He missed his family. He missed Yuuko and Takeshi and wanted to meet their three little girls. He was ashamed that he hadn’t even come out of his skating-obsessed shell long enough to even think about visiting home, even after Nationals, and losing Vicchan during the Grand Prix Finals had definitely been a wake-up call.  

He knew Phichit would be sad. But he had to go back.

“I understand.” Phichit said.

Yuuri refused to look at Phichit, but he still heard the waver in his friend’s voice.

Fighting back tears, Yuuri decided to stare resolutely at the largest poster of Victor he had hanging over his bed. It was funny that he was looking at the magnificent man who made Yuuri dream of skating on the same ice as him, in a moment where Yuuri felt like he was turning his back on that dream.

“You’ll keep skating, though.”

That made Yuuri look back at Phichit. The other boy still looked a little sad, but there was a determination laced in there now.

“But…didn’t you hear…?” Yuuri spluttered.

“Yeah, yeah, you ended things with Ciao-Ciao. But you’re not going to quit skating. It’s your whole life!”

“Well, yeah, but…” Of course, Yuuri hadn’t thought of quitting skating altogether. Just competitive skating.

Phichit continued anyway, “In fact, you’re going to enter competitions again and win. You’re going to go shoot for the Grand Prix Finals again…”

“Phichit, wait!”

“…and the Four Continents and even Worlds. And you'll win again and again!”

Yuuri swallowed. He couldn’t believe Phichit, sometimes. How could he explain to his friend that, no matter what he thought of Yuuri’s ability, none of it would change the fact that he was still _Yuuri_. Yuuri Katsuki, the skater who barely made it in the top six at the Grand Prix Finals. Yuuri Katsuki, who’d absolutely _bombed_ Nationals shortly after because he couldn’t toughen up and shake off his nerves. Sure, with Phichit supporting him in the last few months, he’d begun to regain his love of the sport. But skating with Phichit on the sidelines was _very_ different from skating for an audience on the international stage again. He’d have to face people like Phichit, who saw more in him than he could actually give. He’d only disappoint them again.

Yuuri was pulled back out of his thoughts to find a finger pointed inches from his face. He crossed his eyes to focus on the digit before looking past it at his friend. Phichit had an exaggeratedly stern look on his face.

“Don’t make me drag you down to the rink and force you to see exactly why quitting is a bad idea!”

Yuuri saw that his friend was trying to keep him from getting upset and knew that it was working; the expression on his face was too silly and Yuuri had to laugh.

“And you’d better not go and find some Japanese Phichit to replace me when you go back!”

Yuuri snorted as he moved to sit on his bed, “Of course not. It would be impossible anyway, to try; I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet who’s like you!”

Phichit tilted his head, trying to analyze what Yuuri had said, before shrugging, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The two boys laughed good naturedly, just enjoying the moment.

“Now!” Phichit said, grabbing his phone, “We need to let the world know _exactly_ how much I’m going to miss you.”

And before Yuuri could protest, Phichit had snapped a quick selfie and was showing it to Yuuri. “Is this okay?”

The photo wasn’t half bad. Phichit, of course, was sporting his signature grin as he threw one arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. Since Yuuri hadn’t been expecting the photo, he looked a little surprised to have the camera trained on him; his eyes were slightly widened and he’d instinctively raised a hand to block his face. But his hand hadn’t made it very far in the journey up to his face before the picture had been taken and it looked more like he was waving shyly at the camera than anything else. His hair wasn’t too much of a mess, and only the corner of one of his posters was visible so there’d be no embarrassment on _that_ front.

He nodded.

“Great!” Phichit said, his fingers already flying. Yuuri reckoned that the photo had already been uploaded on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook in the time it took for him to _breathe._

Sure enough, not a second after Phichit had put his phone back in his pocket, Yuuri felt his own phone vibrate. He decided to open Instagram first.

 

[Photo]

 **phichit+chu:** Best friend moving back to Japan and I’m DEVASTATED! Our room will seem so empty w/o him! Detroit Skating Club is losing a STAR! _#YuuriKatsuki # BFF #willbemissed #can’tgoonwithouthim_ **#** _DetroitSkatingClub_...

 

There were half a dozen more hashtags after that, and the photo was already getting hundreds of likes, but Yuuri wasn’t focused on that. He was focused on the one thing Phichit added at the end, more for Yuuri’s benefit than the world’s. The one thing that only the two of them would understand.

At the end of post, Phichit had put a gold medal along with a thumbs up emoji.

Yuuri looked up at Phichit who was now sitting at his desk, watching him. And the moment Yuuri’s brown eyes locked with his, Phichit flashed him a smile, knowing exactly what had been exchanged between them.

_Everything will be okay._

~ * ~

“Try skating one of Victor’s programs.”

“Huh?” Yuuri came to a halt on the ice as he looked over at Phichit. The Thai skater had been sitting on the barrier as he watched Yuuri run through his old free skate program, but now he was behind it, his head in his hands.

“You told me once that you basically learned how to skate by copying his programs. Maybe that’s how you’ll find the emotion you’ve been looking for.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“Isn’t that how you got into skating in the first place?”

Yuuri attacked his toe pick into the ice as he thought, watching the little sprays of ice shavings. He hadn’t attempted to skate one of Victor’s programs in a long time. He’d always been so busy trying to reach the man with his _own_ performances, with his own style. After he’d begun to compete seriously in the international circuit, attempting to replicate the programs of his idol had become more of a source of discouragement than inspiration. They had begun to only remind him of how far behind the living legend he really was.

He couldn’t do it.

“You can do it,” Phichit said, already waving his phone in the air, “We can watch his recent ones if you don’t remember his old ones.”

In the end, Yuuri chose to skate Victor’s free skate, Stammi Vicino, just to appease. Leaning over the barrier with Phichit’s head mere inches from his own, he watched the Russian skater move through his performance at the Grand Prix Finals with the grace of a swan and, for Yuuri, it was as enrapturing as all of his performances were. The way that the man reached toward the audience, and the camera, as if he wished them to join him on the ice. The way he clutched his leg in a perfect sit spin. The way his skates flashed as he flew into his signature quadruple flip.

None of the emotion he put into his dance was lost to either boy as they watched on the small screen.

‘Stammi vicino, non te ne andare’. Those were the first lyrics of the song Victor had chosen.

Yuuri knew there had been a story behind ‘Stammi Vicino’— a sad story. A story of love and longing. Of a man who was unbearably lonely, wishing for someone to stand by them and never leave. Yuuri couldn’t imagine why _Victor Nikiforov_ of all people would choose to tell a story like that. As far as he knew, _everyone_ wanted Victor, including himself.

But he had noticed that the man had seemed a bit off at the European Championships when he’d skated it in January, with a sort of desperation in his movements as he’d performed it and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes when he received his gold medal. Yuuri didn’t want to imagine what that could mean.

But Yuuri _could_ close his eyes and imagine that the song was about him. He could imagine that it was about him struggling to rediscover his love for skating. He could imagine that it was about thanking everyone who had stayed by _his_ side, like Phichit and Yuuko and Takeshi and his family. He could make it his story, just for this.

So Yuuri did what he had resolutely done since the beginning. He skated.

He raised his head to the ceiling before dropping into the first part of the free program that had captivated so him thoroughly when he’d watched the European Championships. Sure, it had been the same program that had won Victor the gold medal at the Grand Prix Final. But the European Championships had been the first time Yuuri had been able to _appreciate_ his idol’s masterful program while curled up beside Phichit, staring intently at the livestream of the event on his laptop. It was that rendition of the performance that he imagined now, as the whispers of the aria swirled in his head.

Yuuri tucked his elbows in close to him as he entered the quad Lutz that prefaced everything else. With his hands clutched firmly against his heart, he remembered practicing Victor’s programs in his younger years, with Yuuko by his side. ‘The reliable Ice Castle Madonna’, he’d thought of her. Was she happy? Did she still skate? Was she going to teach her daughters how to skate? What would she think of him now, seeing him dance across the ice as Victor’s shadow? He suddenly thought that he’d have a gift for her when he got back home, if he managed to do this right. A gift of gratitude for all the years _she_ stood by his side, when his face was chubbier and his legs were less sure on the slippery ice.

As he transitioned into the longer step sequence, he saw flashes of Phichit who was still standing at the edge of the rink. He was spinning too fast to catch the expression on Phichit’s face, but he could only imagine that his friend was smiling. Yuuri felt like smiling too. He had no words to express how grateful he was for Phichit’s presence then. He had no idea where he’d be mentally if Phichit hadn’t thrown the covers off his head and hugged him all those nights ago. He stumbled in the triple flip’s exit and heard Phichit giggle a bit (the traitor!) but he immediately skated over to his friend and reached out to him before skating backwards to the middle of the rink again. He imagined that all the gratitude and love he felt for Phichit flowed from his fingertips, directly into the Thai boy’s heart. He kept his eyes on his friend and, before executing the final jump combination, reveled in the way the Thai skater’s eyes sparkled with pride.

And then, all too soon, the program was over and Yuuri was forced to strike the final pose. As he stood there, breathing heavily with his arms crossed by his head, only one thought settled in his mind.

_That…that had been fun._

“That was beautiful, Yuuri!” Phichit said from the sidelines, after a moment of silence, “I knew you could do it!”

Yuuri took a few deep breaths and was about to respond when he noticed the phone in the Thai skater’s hand. Held horizontally.

Yuuri yelped, the euphoria from completing Victor’s program dissipating.

“You’d better not be posting that video!” Yuuri didn’t like immediately accusing Phichit of violating his need for privacy like that, but, if he’d learned anything from the three years they’d gotten to know each other, it was that he could never be too sure when it came to his friend and his extreme addiction of posting things online.

Phichit dropped his hand, “No, no, no! This is for me. I just wanted to keep this for…future situations.”

Yuuri felt his face go warm, “What, like blackmail?”

Phichit put his hand on his hips, “Seriously, Yuuri, what do you take me for?!” he watched as Yuuri slid up beside him, “No, it’s for if I need to motivate you again. It’s one reason why I film myself practicing my own routines.”

“So it’s _not_ just to get hundreds of thousands of likes and retweets and comments?”

Phichit smirked, “Well, that may be _part_ of it, but I’m not a complete narcissist.”

Yuuri contemplated what Phichit had said, though. He had certainly gotten much better over the past few months. Thanks to his friend, he was a far cry from the depressed shell of a man he had been post-Nationals. But he knew that his anxiety could sometimes get the better of him. What about his performance here did Phichit think would help motivate him in those moments? He knew he hadn’t skated it perfectly, reflecting just how little he’d actually studied the program. It would certainly take more practice before he’d be able to get through the whole thing decently. He’d also wobbled a bit on the quad Salchow and failed Victor’s signature quad flip entirely, so it wasn’t like he’d be seeing Victor in himself, right? He had never been the best at motivating himself because he was so used to just thinking back on all his failures, and this had just been another one too, right? Another example of how he couldn’t measure up to Victor.

He appreciated the sentiment though. If he’d learned anything from Phichit in the past three months, it was that he should trust his friend.

Speaking of the past three months, there was one question that still bothered Yuuri.

“Remind me,” Yuuri asked as they walked out of the skating club and into the March sunshine, “Why have you been so insistent that I keep skating? Even from the beginning? All this time?”

Phichit looked away and tapped his phone against his chin, thinking.

“I figured it’s like swimming, y’know? If your head is above the water, you’re not drowning.”

Yuuri stopped walking and stared at his friend, feeling the light warmth of happiness grow in his heart. _I’m not drowning…_

And with that, for the first time, Yuuri was able to think to himself with some conviction:

_Everything will be okay._

~ * ~

Of course, Phichit insisted on saying goodbye to Yuuri at the airport when it was finally time for him to leave.

“Don’t be a stranger, Yuuri.” Phichit said, pulling the Japanese skater in for a vice-like hug after he’d checked in his bags, “You have to call me when you get back to Japan.”

“I promise I will. It’ll be so nice to go home.”

But as they hugged, Yuuri suddenly felt scared. What was he doing? Turning his back on the last five years. Closing the door on this chapter of his life. He didn’t want to say living in Detroit had been the best experience he’d ever had. but it would certainly be the most memorable. Yuuri didn’t know what would lie ahead, but he had developed a certain fondness for the city that allowed him to take a peek at American culture, allowed him to meet so many people who seemed to have more interesting lives than him, and allowed him to develop his skating enough to make it to the Grand Prix Finals.

And Phichit. _And Phichit!_

There were so many things Yuuri wanted to cherish from his time living with Phichit, both the big moments and the mundane. Both from the last three months, and the last three years. He remembered getting frustrated with Phichit for teasing him for his plethora of Victor posters when they’d first unpacked together, and then forgiving him when the Thai boy offered to make them both pad Thai for dinner. He fondly remembered freaking out with Phichit when one of his hamsters went missing (it had been under Phichit’s pillow, fast asleep).

Spending rainy nights huddled beside Phichit as they watched The King and the Skater on Phichit’s laptop for the hundredth time. Taking ridiculous selfies with Phichit and then laughing as Celestino shouted at them to focus on their routines. Screaming with Phichit when his Grand Prix assignments came in (at least, until someone banged on the door telling them to keep it down) because it was _finally real_. Holding onto Phichit after his failure at the Finals. And finally, skating ‘Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare’ with Phichit in their last weeks together. Those were memories that coaxed the tears out of Yuuri’s tear ducts as he held onto his dear friend tightly.

“Yuuri?” Phichit pulled back, confusion his face. “You’re crying!”

Yuuri shook his head and smiled, “Happy tears.”

He pulled Phichit back into the hug. He had never been a very touchy person, but right now, all he wanted to do was hold onto his friend for dear life. Like the Thai skater was a life preserver and Yuuri was about to jump off a ship into the dark unknown below.

“Thank you,” he said, barely above a whisper, “For being the best friend _ever_!”

Phichit laughed, “That’ll be $500 or whatever that is in Yen, by the way. I take both cash and card.”

“ _Phichit!_ ”

The Thai skater laughed even harder, shaking the both of them, before sobering up, “But seriously, you’re acting like we’re never going to see each other again. I know you ended things with Ciao-Ciao, but don’t think I won’t come to Japan myself if I don’t see you in the Grand Prix Finals this year!”

Yuuri nodded, “I can believe you’ll make it to the Grand Prix Finals, Phichit. What you have planned for ‘Shall We Skate?’ will be phenomenal. I know you’ve been wanting to skate that since forever.”

Phichit’s million-watt smile was back, “I know, right?! They won’t see me coming! But don’t think I noticed that little deflection. I’m still talking about you.”

Yuuri looked down and gulped, “Do you think I can make it again? I mean, after last year...”

Phichit put a firm hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, “Yuuri, I believe in you. Just keep skating.”

_I believe in you…_

_I believe in you…_

Even when the two young men were forced separate and Yuuri walked towards the security checkpoint, Phichit’s words bounced about in his head, like a small light fighting back the darkness of doubt that still consumed him.

As Yuuri sat on the plane 15 minutes later, he noticed a text from Phichit and smiled at what it contained. It wasn’t long, but it spoke of things that couldn’t be properly expressed even if Phichit had written an essay for him. A gold medal.

_I believe in you…_

_Everything will be okay._

~ * ~

When the video of Yuuri skating Victor’s free skate routine goes viral a few days later, Phichit is one of the first people know. Of course, he’d know. Given that he follows every skating-related account on just about every social media platform and has quite a sizeable following himself, there is no way he could _not_ find out. Even if he hadn’t been as active on social media as he was, he's still shown the video by other skaters at the club when he shows up for practice the next day.

“Isn’t this the guy you always hung out with?” they keep asking him, and Phichit swells with pride every time he has a phone thrust under his nose with the performance already playing.

“Yup,” he always replies, “Yuuri Katsuki…my best friend. He’s awesome, isn’t he?!”

Yuuri hadn’t called him like he’d promised, but this is as good a sign as any that his friend is stable.

And less than a week later, when Yuuri messages Phichit in a panic about _Victor Nikiforov himself_ showing up in Japan and insisting that he coach Yuuri, Phichit just replies with a gold medal.

_Everything is okay._

**Author's Note:**

> There it is, the longest one-shot I've written so far. I was cautious in how much progression I would have Yuuri make because 1) he still has a lot of development to go through when we see him at the beginning of the series which Victor helps him with and 2) in spite of Phichit's best intentions, I know that you can't simply 'cure' anxiety.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed! As I wrote it, this piece began to mean a lot to me, so I'd love to hear what you all thought of it, both good and bad.
> 
> Check out my other works, if you want, or find me on tumblr @chasingfandom (anime side-blog) or @warriorette12 (main blog)!


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